


Style Theory

by Imagining_in_the_Margins



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Meet-Cute, Other, Self-Insert, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24530362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_in_the_Margins/pseuds/Imagining_in_the_Margins
Summary: Fashion student Reader meets her favorite scholar and teaches him a lesson in self-love.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 79





	Style Theory

It was 11:45 AM. That meant that within the next fifteen minutes, BAU profiler and Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid would be rounding the corner of this hallway and heading to this Professor’s office to conduct small sessions of office hours for Advanced Psychology students. Slight problem— I was not an Advanced Psych student.

That’s why I had skipped my class specifically to stand at this door, ready to basically trap this man in the office for a chance to talk to him. Okay, okay, it sounds crazy when I say it like that. Maybe it is, but I was desperate. I’d been following his work for years. The BAU was one of the biggest reasons I studied psychology at all! Fashion would always be my first passion, but this was a close second.

I looked down at my watch, nervously wringing my hands together and trying to stabilize my breathing. Deep breaths. In and out. Wait, too deep. Oh god, I was going to pass out.

“Hey, are you okay?” I heard his voice before I saw him. Spencer Reid, in the flesh. Talking to me.

“Hello!” I yelled, a bit too loud and excited, remembering after he shot me a strange glance that he had asked me a question. “Yes! I am okay! Hello. You’re Dr. Reid!” He looked down at the hand I held out to him for a moment before shaking it, turning to look behind him.

“How did you beat me here? Isn’t class still going on?” Don’t ask me how I hadn't anticipated this question. I already felt stupid, staring at him slack jawed and panicked as I eventually blurted out, “Yes. Advanced Psych hasn’t ended yet. I’m not in that class.”

It had been less than a minute and I was already a disaster. Then again, it would have been stupid to try to lie to him. He was a freaking profiler.

“Oh, well, then why are you here?” I knew my face had to be turning red. My pulse was so crazy I thought I might go lightheaded. “I-I wanted to talk. To you. If that’s alright.”

Spencer glanced down at his own watch. I pulled my shirt sleeve down, suddenly terrified he might notice my identical one. Luckily, he seemed mildly distracted as he eventually decided, “Yeah, sure, we can talk. Come on in.”

As he unlocked the door, I readjusted myself before finally walking into the unfamiliar office and taking a seat. He sat in the chair next to the Professor’s desk, like he was worried it wasn’t his. I continued to watch him curiously until he spoke, “To be honest, the last time someone was this excited to talk to me he, uh… he was a serial killer.”

The soft chuckle he gave brought a smile to my face, albeit with a nervous laugh. “Well, I’m definitely not a serial killer. Don’t worry about that.” He quickly looked me over once, an unconcerned calmness on his features. At least I didn’t look like a serial killer, I guess.

“What’s your name, by the way? You never told me.” Somehow, I had completely forgotten that kind of very important detail. “(Y/n),” I said as I shifted to cross my legs.

“So, (y/n), if you aren’t in Advanced Psychology, how’d you know I was coming today?” It wasn’t an accusation so much as it was genuine curiosity.

“Oh, I’m in the Psychology Student Group. I helped plan your visit.” Nervously, I played with the hem of my sweater, trying to maintain eye contact as much as I could. He noticed. Of course he did.

“Are you majoring in psychology, then? You seem really interested in it. More than the kids in Advanced Psychology, anyway.”

I thought about my answer for awhile. I hadn't exactly intended to get into this with him in my original plan, but I also hadn't been expecting him to be so… comforting. The longer we spoke, the less intimidated I became. “No, actually… Psychology is more like… a hobby? I really enjoy it, but it’s not what I want to do with my life.”

“I can understand that,” he said with a somber nod. “You know, people make fun of me sometimes for doing magic, but when you’re surrounded by horrible things all the time it’s very important to find something else you enjoy.” I was beaming. It was so nice to hear someone who valued happiness. Especially someone like him, who picked a lifestyle of selflessness. “So what is yours? The thing you enjoy?”

“Fashion design.” I sounded skeptical as I said it, but not because I was ashamed of it. More so I was worried he wouldn’t be impressed by it. He didn’t look impressed. He mostly looked confused. “Do you think it’s stupid?” I asked, defeated.

His eyes shot open, and the worry in his voice became obvious. “No, not at all! No, that’s wonderful. Sorry, I, uh, I just… you don’t… look like a fashion student?” 

Somehow, he had managed to be even more offensive. My heart sunk, but I also had to remember that genius profiler or not, he can be kind of an idiot. “Why not?”

He tucked his hair behind his ear, clearing his throat as he sat back up, looking over my outfit before looking down at himself. “You just… you kind of dress like I do.”

This man would be the death of me. I didn’t want him to put it together yet, to remember that people often take on the traits of the people they admire. I didn’t want him to realize that over the years of listening to all his lectures on YouTube and reading all of his articles, I’d started to emulate him in more ways than one. After all, I wanted him to respect me as a scholar and person, not write me off as a fangirl. Did he even have those?

“Don’t worry about it,” I laughed, pulling out my notebook from my backpack. “Now Dr. Reid,” my smile also clear in my voice, “I have a few questions. 28, to be exact.”

“I’m ready.” He accepted the challenge, mirroring me by crossing his legs and readying his notebook. He noticed me noticing.

Time flew by, and surprisingly a few students did show up. But unfortunately, they didn’t really get many words in. I would wave them over to join us, and continue on my list of questions. Spencer was more than happy to answer them all. At one point he took over the whiteboard in the Professor’s office.

The Professor joined us, too, and I think he had planned on kicking me out. But Spencer was having such a great time, and at least five pages of my notebook had been filled at this point. Students continued to filter in and out, until the next wave of classes after lunch started. It was just the two of us when I finally finished my list.

“What time is it?” He finally asked, glancing down at his watch at the same time as me.

“1:30.” He chuckled when he heard me, and then turned to face me. “Wow, I’m so sorry. I’ve taken up your entire afternoon.” He seemed genuinely apologetic, like I had been somehow trapped here with him.  
“They were my questions, you know,” I reminded him with a grin. “Yeah,” he started, “but I know I’m not exactly… short winded.”

“That’s one of my favorite things about you.” I hadn’t realized I’d said the thought out loud until I saw the way he looked over my outfit again, this time noticing the same watch on my wrist. I didn’t cover it up this time. He turned around to clean the whiteboard, and I noticed a slight shyness in his movements.

“Thank you, Dr. Reid.” My voice was softer than it had been, and I stood up to finally start to make my exit. I think he could tell something was weighing on me, because he asked, “For what?”

I put my notebook in the bag, leaving it open and turning towards him. “For not making me feel stupid.” The look on his face told me he was looking for more of an explanation.

“Ever since I was a little kid I wanted to be a designer, and my whole life people have told me I was stupid. Not just because it’s a frilly career, but because it’s not one of the ‘distinguished’ areas of study.” He watched me with a familiar sympathetic gaze.

“I know it’s not chemistry, or mathematics, or engineering,” his eyebrows furrowed as he recognized the list as the subjects in which he held PhDs, but I continued. “But I love it. It makes me happy. And that doesn’t mean I’m wasting my talents. Just because it isn’t a hard science doesn’t mean it isn’t still hard. You know?”

“I do,” his voice was as quiet, and I swore I felt the sadness bubbling in him.

“(Y/n) please, believe me when I say that you are one of the smartest students I’ve met.” My heart skipped a beat at his words, and I had almost clutched my chest at the sensation.

“I could never do what you do. I’m not good at all at… creating beautiful things. I’m certain the way you see the world is a better way to see it. I hope you never let anyone make you feel like you are stupid for making the hardest decision in the world.” I wrapped an arm around my chest, grabbing hold of my other arm as I tried to will the flushing on my face to go away. “Which decision is that?”

“To be happy.” Spencer said it so simply, looking down at the ground and clearing his throat. When he looked back up, he had a much more hopeful expression. “Maybe you can teach me a lesson on that someday.”

This was the moment I was waiting for. It was the perfect opportunity. I didn’t talk, but instead turned around, pulling fabric wrapped in tissue paper out of my backpack. I could feel his eyes on me as the sounds filled the room.  
When I held out the gift in front of him he just stared for a moment, before finally taking it. He read the tag on the front, then carefully began unwrapping it while asking, “What is this for?”

“You.” I answered, half joking and half serious. He unraveled the tissue paper and the fabric within, revealing a patterned scarf. “I made it. It was my final project last year.”

“(Y/n), I can’t take this from you. It’s too important—“ I raised my hand to cut him off, and he stopped. “I want you to have it.” He looked down at it again, running his hand along the fabric. “Why?”

I smiled, biting my tongue to stop myself from crying. His voice was beginning to crack, and I knew that it was as emotional charged of a moment for him as it was for me. “Consider it your first lesson. A reminder that… that you deserve to be happy, Dr. Reid.” I paused. “You really do.”

He rubbed under one of his eyes, although I didn’t see any tears. Running his hand over his face, he let out an almost whispered laugh. “I’m really sorry, if uh, if this is awkward. But… Can—Can I give you a hug?”

Also laughing as I wiped at my own eyes, I sniffled out a mangled, “Sure.”  
His touch was exactly as gentle as I'd imagined. He smelled like fresh soap and laundry, and felt just as warm as the latter. He exerted the perfect amount of pressure against my back, and my fingertips lightly gripped his shirt as I took a deep breath.

I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, my cheek against his chest breathing in the happiness exuding from this moment.  
He took his own shaky breath, finally releasing me from his hold. He looked back down at the scarf, noticing a recently added tag. A goofy, questioning grin on his face he asked, “Is this…?”

“My phone number. In case you’re interested in a second lesson.” It was his turn to blush, stammering out a “Oh, wow. Um, thanks. I, uh, yeah. I am interested. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Reid.” I was about to leave when he placed a tentative hand on my shoulder as I grabbed my bag. I turned around to see a very happy, nervous mess. “You can call me Spencer.” He shrugged before adding, “If you want.”

“Okay, Spencer,” I laughed once more, waving shyly as I passed by him. “See you later. For lesson two!” He waved back, and I wasn’t sure if I heard him speak or not. But I could’ve sworn I heard a barely audible, “I can’t wait.”

(A month later)

Spencer was a busy guy. I knew that. I kept reminding myself of that each time my text messages were left on read. His job was important and stressful, and he’d honestly been pretty consistent at answering my questions and laughing at the stupid memes and stories I sent him. But we hadn’t had another moment like we did when he was here.

Every now and then, we would have long phone calls at night. Each time, I felt like we might be getting somewhere, but then he would get a case and be gone for a week. Part of me wondered if he was just being nice.

I sighed, looking down at my phone expecting to see no messages. To my surprise, it buzzed with a new message at that exact moment. My phone screen lit up with “Spencer Reid ❤️” and I nearly knocked it off the table as I scrambled to grab it.

The text message was just a selfie of him, the scarf covering almost all of his face with a thumbs up in the corner. The sight was my favorite thing, and I quickly saved the picture, sending back a cheeky, “Wow, nice scarf.”

“The designer is super talented. One of a kind.” He immediately sent back, and I excitedly returned, “The designer or the scarf?”

“Both,” was his simple response. Nothing could have wiped the smile off my face for the rest of the day. 


End file.
